


Home Base

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, I haven't watched all of Bones but I hope this seems vaguely in character?, Kidnapping, Mention of Child Abuse, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:12:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I started writing this for a girl I really liked at her request (she turned out to be straight, but that's kinda how it is sometimes) and since I made an account I figured why not finish it?</p><p>Sweets is kidnapped by a rogue pediatrician who he profiled. Booth and Brennan refuse to let the perp get away with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To Sweets, psychology meant safety. He’d spent so much time in school, lying awake in his dorm at sixteen with a textbook propped on his stomach, that the whole subject seemed as comforting as a parent’s voice. He wanted to help people, to feel like he could share a bit of himself with someone else, to show them that they weren’t alone. And for Sweets, psychology stayed safe until he began profiling serial killers at the Jeffersonian. He kept that good heart, tried not to think about how sick those people made him, focused on helping the rescued victims and their families. The job was interesting and didn’t exactly leave a smudge on his budding resume, until it hit close to home. And home for Sweets was his mind.

            The man in question was a disgraced pediatric surgeon named Thomas Jarkley who began kidnapping children and conducting freakish experiments on them both pre- and post-mortem. After the FBI nearly caught up with him in Virginia, Jarkley disappeared off the map until two years later, when he emerged to seek revenge on the man who’d profiled him. Sweets had spoken to him briefly when he’d been brought in for questioning, and the surgeon took an unhealthy interest in the young psychologist.

            “You remind me of my patients,” he’d said to Sweets, who’d been shifting uncomfortably in his seat during the entire interview. “Warm. Intelligent. Lively.” Sweets would never admit it to any of his colleagues, but he spent the next five minutes on his hands and knees in the stall of the men’s bathroom, trying desperately not to be sick. There was no evidence to tie Jarkley to the case at that time, however, and Sweets cast off his nausea as a touch of food poisoning and nothing more.

            It took the FBI almost three days to find Sweets, and another twelve hours to plan an extraction from Jarkley’s new hiding place in the basement of the abandoned Newman’s slaughterhouse. Booth ran himself ragged digging through Jarkley’s files and exploring abandoned buildings while the others focused on what debris had been found in Sweets’ home and on the note Jarkley left after the abduction. The note, written plainly in Sweets’ handwriting, stated that he’d decided to leave the Jeffersonian for greener pastures, but the mixture of sweat and blood that stained the paper was a pretty obvious tip off that foul play was afoot. They’d tossed the apartment from top to bottom in a frenzy, finding trace amounts of bovine excrement and granite particulates that led them to Newman’s.

            “Bones, you are not coming with us. This guy is a freaking madman.”

            Brennan ground her heels in, as she was wont to do when Booth tried to dismiss her, and followed him out of the office to the parking lot, where a small squadron of police cars and a SWAT vehicle sat primed.

            “I want to be there when we find him.”

            “We don’t know what we’re walking into. And I don’t want you seeing him if…” Booth trailed off, but Brennan refused to budge until he relented.

            Newman’s slaughterhouse had at one point been a relatively successful enterprise, but after the company had moved out of D.C., the warehouse fell into disuse and became a prime area for squatters. Booth and Brennan headed the team through the darkened rooms until they finally ventured into the basement. The place stunk of animals and rot and Brennan coughed into the hand not holding her gun.

            “God, it stinks down here.”

            “Shh. You hear that?” Booth held out a hand to stop her before turning to one of the metal doors on his left. “It sounds like something’s dripping.”

            “It could be a burst pipe,” Brennan offered.

            “No, it’s too quiet.” Booth pressed his ear to the door. “I’m gonna go in.” He tried the handle, which refused to budge. “Break it down.”

            The room, which had previously been used to drain blood from various castoffs, was barren except for the walls, all four of which were hung with hooks, and a large drain in the center of the floor. A metal folding chair lay overturned next to the drain, back towards the door. Someone with dark hair had been bound with duct tape to the chair, a puddle of what looked like oil running through their hair and dripping down the drain.

            “Sweets!” Brennan shouted in a moment of rare emotion, but Booth held her back with his elbow, holding his gun at the ready.

            “Someone get these lights on!” He yelled, and the room burst into color as one of the SWAT team members found the light switch. A weak groan came from the figure bound to the chair, but he was alone. No Jarkley.

            “Sweets?” Booth went for the chair, crouching next to the prone body. “Oh my god.”

            “Is it him?” Brennan joined him and covered her mouth in horror once she took in his face. Sweets was recognizable, but only by the old scars riddled across his exposed shoulders. His face had been beaten savagely until the weapon, later identified as a Louisville Slugger, had split, leaving his scalp peppered with splinters as long as Booth’s pinky. Barely conscious, he looked up at them with unfocused eyes clouded in blood.

            “P…” his split lips came together, the sound barely audible. “Pl…”

            “Don’t try to talk, okay?” Booth tried to work his hands under his head to lift it from the ground. “We need to get him upright.”

            “We don’t know the damage to his skull. Moving him could cause paralysis or worse. Better to free his arms and legs.”

            “Please,” Sweets managed to cough out, his eyes waving back and forth. “Don’t. Don’t h… hit me.”

            “Sweets? Do you recognize us?” Brennan knelt next to him while the paramedics cut three layers of duct tape from around his wrists and bare feet. “It’s Booth and Dr. Brennan from the Jeffersonian.”

            Sweets’ eyes widened slowly, and Brennan could see that one pupil was blown black against the brown iris.

            “He’s concussed.”

            “Wouldn’t…” Sweets coughed and a spray of blood came to his teeth. “Didn’t sleep.” The words were barely audible around the swelling in his mouth and nose. “Couldn’t sleep.”

            “He wouldn’t let you sleep?” Booth asked, and Sweets whimpered in response.

            “Boof.”

            “I’m right here, buddy. We’re gonna get you out of here. You’re okay.” Booth pulled the shoulder of Sweets’ torn t-shirt up to cover his scars, and Brennan saw a quiet paternal rage percolating just under his skin.

            “The building is secure, Agent Booth,” one of the officers said after the paramedics had finished freeing Sweets’ hands and feet. “No sign of Jarkley.”

            “He knew we were coming, but he couldn’t take Sweets. He left him as a warning,” Brennan said, and Booth gritted his teeth.

            “We’ll find him.”

            As soon as Sweets’ hands were free, he brought his arms in close to his body like a child, shivering against the cold tile of the slaughterhouse floor.

            “Can we get him a shock blanket or something? He’s freezing,” Booth snapped, and one of the paramedics produced something orange from her bag before handing it over.

            “Look at his fingers,” Brennan remarked as Sweets clung to the blanket with one little finger. “They’ve been snapped.”

            “We need to get him out of here now. Is that gurney set up?” Booth asked, and before he got an answer, he’d carefully extracted Sweets’ body from the chair and set him gently on the waiting board. Sweets, drooling blood from the wounds in his head and mouth, buried his face in Booth’s bulletproof vest and refused to let go even after Booth tried to pull away.

            “Boof,” he kept saying, barely conscious enough to keep himself upright but grasping at Booth’s arms with his hands, purple from cold and lack of circulation.

            “C’mon, buddy, it’s time to lie down,” Booth guided Sweets’ head onto the gurney and the injured man closed his eyes. He didn’t awake again for eighteen hours.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booth and Angela visit Sweets in the hospital. He's a little worse for wear.

Two days later, Brennan demanded the medical results, ostensibly for forensics but Booth suspected it had more to do with concern. She’d shared them with him at the diner that morning, despite his many protests that they were eating.

            “Fractured skull, multiple contusions to the body and face, six fractured fingers including the left thumb,” she read over her toast. Booth made a face.

            “Jarkley broke his thumb?”

            “On the hand he writes with, too. Digits don’t take long to heal, though.”

            “Did Hodgins get anything off his body?”

            “Nothing particularly groundbreaking. Granite from the floor, latex. Jarkley was pretty thorough about cleaning up after himself.”

            “Except that he left Sweets behind.”

            “He couldn’t exactly take him with, not in the state he was in. Look. Jarkley pulled out one of his molars with a pair of pliers.”

            Booth winced. “Could we not do this while we’re eating, Bones?”

            “I thought you said you wanted some information before you go in to talk to him today.” Brennan set down the file in favor of her coffee. “He’s may not even be awake when you get there.”

            “Then I’ll wait. Finding Jarkley is our top priority right now and Sweets is the only lead.”

            “You can’t push him too hard,” Brennan said. “His brain isn’t exactly functioning at top capacity right now.”

            “I’ll be gentle. Besides, I think Angela’s going up there today too. She’ll act as a buffer.”

            Brennan sipped her coffee. “All right. I’m going back to the slaughterhouse today to see if we can find anything else. Call me if you get anything.”

            “He’s been asleep for most of the morning,” the nurse said as she led Booth down the hall to Sweets’ room. “Been in and out for the last few days. We’ve got him on a moderate dose of morphine for the pain, but not quite as much as he could take due to the concussion. He’s still cognizant, but he might be a little sleepy. A Ms. Montenegro is in with him now.”

            “How long has she been here?”

            “About an hour.”

            “Anyone else?”

            “Aside from the police? No one. He hasn’t been exactly up for visitors.”

            “That’s understandable. Have you been the orderly looking after him?”

            “Yes. We alternate but I had a double shift when they brought him in. He’s a sweet boy.” She stopped and turned to a door her left. “This is him. If I can help you in any way, don’t hesitate to give me a holler. I’m Joan.” She gestured to her nametag, and Booth thanked her before entering the room.

            Late morning sunlight streamed through the cracked blinds and onto Sweets’ shoulders and back, which were turned away from the door when Booth walked in. Angela stood up from her seat next to the bed.

            “Hi. You doing okay?” she asked, and Booth nodded.

            “You?”

            “About as good as someone can be right after their friend was kidnapped and tortured,” she said, sitting back down and taking one of Sweets’ hands into her own. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

            “Figured I’d come keep you company. Besides, I’m ready to go after Jarkley. Has he gotten up since you got here?”  
            “Nope. He was having a nightmare when I first came in, or at least that’s what I think it was. I’ve been rubbing his back. It seemed to calm him down.”

            “Angela, paragon of empathy,” Booth joked, and she smiled.

            “He’s just a kid. No one should have to go through something like this. I figured a little comfort could be just what he needed, even when he’s asleep.” She ran her thumbs gently over his bandaged hand. “Jarkley broke six of his fingers.”

            “Bones told me.”

            “If he was awake, Sweets would probably tell us about the psychological implications of breaking the thumb on the dominant hand. Like a power play.”

            Booth laughed. “He’s probably written a dissertation on it.”

            “Not yet.” A weak voice spoke up from the bed and both Angela and Booth jumped. Sweets rolled over onto his back with a groan. “Agent Booth, when did you get here?”

            “We thought you were asleep. Did we wake you?” Angela asked, and Sweets shook his head slowly.

            “Nah, I’ve been up for a bit.”

            “Why didn’t you say something?”

            Sweets tried to smile. “I didn’t want you to stop rubbing my back. Feels good, like what my mom used to do to get me to sleep. Or after I had a nightmare.”

            “You were having one when I came in. Do you remember it?”

            “Nope. Hope I didn’t scare you.” He tried to prop himself up on the mound of pillows underneath him, but only succeeded in moving his body a few inches. “I’ve been so sleepy. My head still feels pretty funny.”

            “That’ll be the morphine talking.” Booth said. “Did anyone tell you I was coming?”

            “If they did, I wasn’t conscious enough to remember. It’s nice to see you anyway.” Sweets’ hand moved to the back of his skull, which was swathed in clean bandages. “Sorry if I’m not the most verbose right now. I’ve had a headache for almost a week.”

            “Do you remember why you’re here?” Booth asked.

            “Yeah. I mean, the logistics are a little fuzzy, but I remember. As soon as they got me in the ambulance I pretty much passed out. Is that why you’re here? To talk to me about what happened?”

            “Technically, yes. We’re looking for Jarkley.”

            Sweets’ face went sallow. “Good,” he said, even though he avoided Booth’s eyes. “I’m not exactly much help laid up here, but I’ll do my best.”

            “We don’t need you anywhere near him. Trust me, you’re going to want to wait a while before getting back to work, especially with those hands.” Angela squeezed one of his good fingers gently, and Sweets looked down as if noticing her hand for the first time.

            “Thanks, but I should probably get back to things. I asked them for my laptop, but they wouldn’t let me have it. Something about concentrating too much being bad for the concussion. Or maybe I imagined that.”  
            “No, it sounds like something you would ask for,” Angela said.

            “I guess so. You want me to start from the beginning?” Sweets asked, turning his attention to Booth.

            “Not if you don’t think you’re able to. It’s helpful to get the information now, but I don’t want to kick up bad memories. You’re not exactly in the best state.”

            “I’m fine, lemme just…” Sweets tried to push himself into a sitting position, exhaling sharply as he jarred his chest. “I’m fine. Seriously,” he said before Angela could reach for him. “I’m not dying.”

            “That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help,” Angela said, but Sweets shook his head.

            “It’s been a couple days, I’m fine. I’m waking up. Booth? You got a pen and paper?”

            Booth lifted his pad in response.

            “Okay, just give me a second.” Sweets pressed a hand to his chest and took a shallow breath. “Just my ribs. That’s all.”

            “Whenever you’re ready,” Booth said, and Angela shot him a look.

            “Okay, okay.” Sweets took another breath and coughed. “I’m okay. Let’s do this. I think it started Friday? Saturday morning, maybe, way early in the morning. I woke up to the sound of someone walking around in my apartment, right? I’d gone to bed at like two, so I’d only been asleep about forty-five minutes. I get up and go to the kitchen, and there’s no one there. Then fifty thousand volts in my back and I go down like a tree.”

            “He shocked you?”

            “Taser. He used it again here,” Sweets lifted his t-shirt to reveal a fat bruise on his side. “And again on my back a couple times. Next thing I know, I’m duct taped to a chair in some basement. I think he said it was a slaughterhouse?”

            “An abandoned one, yes,” Booth said.

            “And Jarkley’s standing over me. I was still pretty out of it so I don’t quite remember what he said, but it had something to do with me profiling him and how he wanted to talk to me about it. He kept circling me and I couldn’t really turn my head to follow him because he’d put something on my neck to keep me facing forward.”

            “Oh, god,” Angela said.

            “It’s okay, that’s not one of the bad parts.” Sweets kept his eyes locked on Booth, but his lips were trembling. “Jarkley said he hadn’t been able to sleep since the investigation started, so he wanted me to join him. Every time I started to doze off, he’d use the taser or slap me awake. I don’t know how long I was down there.”

            “About four days,” Booth offered, and Sweets let out a hollow laugh.

            “No wonder I slept for so long. By I guess the third night, I was so tired I didn’t care how much he hit me. So he took my face and he…” Sweets trailed off and raised one hand to his jaw.

            “You don’t have to keep going,” Angela said, but Sweets shook his head.

            “No, no, I’m okay. I’m okay. He, uh… he had a pair of pliers. Small ones. He forced my mouth open and… I guess you already know the rest from my medical records, huh?”

            “Does it hurt?” Angela asked.

            “Not so much anymore. But yeah, when he did it, it hurt. But that wasn’t really the bad part either.”

            “Do you want to tell me about that?” Booth asked. Sweets shrugged.

            “Later on that day, I guess, Jarkley came in with… with a baseball bat. I think he was drunk. He was screaming that I’d ruined his research, that I’d stopped the progress he was trying to make. He said that he was the good guy and that he was trying to make the world a better place, and that people like me were always getting in the way of good work. ‘You’re the scum of the earth, Dr. Sweets,’ he said.” Sweets swallowed hard. “I remember that part really well. He called me Dr. Sweets the whole time, before he used the bat. After that it’s mostly a blur. He kept screaming that he was doing the psychological community a great service. He said he was going to destroy my mind and my hands so I couldn’t work.” He swallowed again. “I’m really sorry, but I think I’m gonna be sick.”

            Booth lunged for the trashcan and handed it over. Sweets held the cold metal between his knees, coughing while Angela got up to push his hair away from his swollen, tear-streaked face.

            “You’re okay,” she kept saying over each gag. “It’s okay.”

            Sweets punctuated each cough with an apology, his shoulders trembling. Nothing came up but saliva tinged with blood, and after a solid minute he pushed the trash can away.

            “I’m sorry,” he said again, running the back of his wrist over his wet eyes. “There’s nothing in my stomach. I just felt like…”

            “It’s fine, Sweets.” Booth spoke up. “Better men than you have puked over much less.”

            “God, I feel like such a coward,” Sweets said, clutching at his ribs between each shallow breath.

            “You shouldn’t. You fought back. You…”

“I didn’t though, okay?” Sweets blurted. “I screamed and cried and begged Jarkley for my life. I told him I’d never go back to the Jeffersonian. I said I’d never work again. I wasn’t stoic or tough or brave. I’m a coward.” He drew his knees close to his chest and buried his face in them, clutching at his hair with both hands as another sob rose in his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

            “Hey, hey,” Angela was on him in a second, holding him against her like a child. “Shhh, it’s okay.” Sweets buried his face in her shoulder, his body shaking so hard he could barely remain upright.

            “I was so scared,” he said, his voice muffled by Angela’s sweater, and Booth found his legs moving of their own accord until he was standing by the bed with both of them in his arms. Angela looked up in surprise, but didn’t let go of Sweets.

            “It’s okay,” Booth mouthed. “He needs this. Let him cry.”

She nodded, then returned to Sweets. “You’re safe now, honey,” she said, rubbing one hand over his back. “It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t stop.” Sweets’ voice was barely more than a whimper. “I don’t want to go home. I’m scared. Please don’t leave me.”

“We won’t leave you,” Booth said. “We will never let something like this ever happen to you again.”

“Everything hurts. He hurt me so bad. I can’t even sleep without seeing him.” Sweets’ sobs started to quiet, punctuated by painful, shuddering gasps for air. “I’m reverting back to a childlike state as a coping mechanism.”

Even in the seriousness of the moment, Booth couldn’t help himself. He laughed, and Angela shot him a look full of venom.

“He’s still the same kid. He just psychoanalyzed himself,” Booth said in a last ditch attempt to explain himself, and to his surprise, a wet half-snort came from Angela’s shoulder.

“See? He thinks it’s funny,” Booth said, and Sweets pulled away to look up at them both.

“God, I’m sorry. That was embarrassing,” he said, wiping his puffy eyes. “Can someone grab me a tissue? Thanks, Angela. Shit, I must look like hell.”

“You’re still pretty, don’t worry,” Booth said, and Sweets snorted into his tissue.

“Thanks. Really though. I don’t know where that came from.”

“You’re allowed to get upset. It’s only been two days,” Angela said, her hand still running up and down his back. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“It’s just embarrassing. Thanks for holding on to me. I don’t think I knew how much I needed that. God, my ribs are killing me.”

“Do you want to lie down?” Booth asked, and Sweets slid down back onto the pillows in response.

“We don’t want to wear you out too much,” Angela said and Sweets shook his head slowly.

“I’m okay. A little sore.”

“A little sore? What are you made of, bricks?” Booth said.

“Okay, maybe more than a little sore.” Sweets rubbed at his chest, wincing as he applied pressure. “But thank you for coming to see me. Really.”

“Do you want us to stick around for a little while? Just until you fall back asleep?” Angela asked, and Sweets nodded.

“Yeah. Thanks.”


End file.
